trans, nerd.

Well Now

A hidden ancient well.

A slip,

A quick descent,

A plunge

Into darkness.

A lucky breath is the difference.


When Reading The Book

Are you learning the lessons or learning the words?

Are you planning to quote it with chapter and verse,

Each line out of context for the causing of hurt?

Are you using it as a shield, as a sword, an excuse?

Are you hiding behind it to hurl abuse?

Are you stood in your castle refusing to help,

And watching as the poor succumb to ill-health?

Do you think the homeless deserve all they don’t get?

Would you judge someone harshly as quick as you’d blink?

Then maybe, 

Just maybe,

You’re not as good as you think. 

The Dreams of an Adult Cat

He dreams like a bean.

Of high dive somersaults,

Maybe of being

A dragon atop gold,

Protecting his pile

From a short, hairy rogue.

Perhaps a young cat,

In the palm of his love.

Or more likely

He’s dreaming

Of bum smell.

Six Shooter

Simplicity of six, 

To gun down {or irreparably damage},




The human 

Becomes a word {pick one, there are many}

Spat with derision

And used

For abuse.

Maude’s 3000

When wakefulness insists upon

Reminding we exist within 

A country where personal freedoms are guaranteed by law

Yet denied by Maude

Who persists in our oppression

Because her personal obsession 

With a book and a god which she can’t prove the existence of,

And how apparently “that which has a penis cannot be anything other

Than a man”,

And Maude’s three thousand followers 

Leap about in celebration of her ‘perfect sensibilities’

Despite the fact she’s clearly

An unpleasant




Why Does It Cry

A despairing cry echoes from the ledge,

A gull, 

Looking for its young

Or protects its roost

Or mourns a partner,

Or maybe

On this blustery blue day,

Wants garlic mayonnaise

And chips.

Night Birds

They peck at my liver

For crimes uncommitted,

Just in case.

They scratch at my eyes

They dig at my thighs,

Peck my face,

Their cruel little eyes,

In which dinosaurs lie,

Stare me down,

Back into the sheets

I fail to I retreat

And I howl.
There are feathers on the bed

And I’m allergic.


Hiraldo was a good dog, he was the best dog.

He showed at shows

And pooed his tail, a pompadour, 

White teeth and a tall posture;

With time, all things are lost.
Hiraldo was the best dog, he was a bad dog.

He won the shows

And had his own, a reality,

Weight gain and an ugly slouch;

Snarling on the studio couch.
Hiraldo was a bad dog, he was the worst dog.

He growled and growled

And bared his teeth, aggressively

Red teeth and redder claws;

The day he dies


Our Sitcom

It went on too long,

Did our sitcom,

The audience, as was, grew bored;

When we surrendered

And our time on air ended

It wasn’t even repeated on Four.

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